


Kiss the Cook

by mandysimo13



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cooking, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Tumblr Prompt, mystrade, rainy day, rainy day fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 14:47:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8060626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandysimo13/pseuds/mandysimo13
Summary: Greg and Mycroft share a rainy day inside baking cookies, kissing and cuddling. Just...lots of fluff.





	

_“There she goes, there she goes, there she goes,”_ Greg sings, slowly rolling his hips to the soft, slightly caribbean, rock beat. Mycroft would never understand the eclectic mix that made up Greg’s Pandora station, everything from The Beatles to Magic! showed up there and it was a little too discordant for his taste. But since Greg was the one taking control here, he wasn’t about to gripe about the music. And besides, it was low enough that he could still hear the pitter-patter of the rain as it tapped against the glass of the windows. He could tune out the music if he chose to do so.

 

Mycroft watches him dancing as he’s stirring what will make up the base of chocolate chip cookies. He had wanted to help Greg at first, after all, who was he kidding? He would be eating at least half of them. His self control only stretched so far when Gregory and chocolate were involved. But Greg had just sucked his teeth at him in mock chiding and shoved him in a chair with a glass of wine.

 

“You spoil me all the time, Myc,” Greg had told him while he pulled down the ingredients he needed from the cabinets. “It seems only fair that I should be able to spoil you occasionally.”

 

Mycroft didn’t bother trying to argue. He sat on his little stool leaning on the marble island between them, watching over his wine glass as Greg sang the words into the bowl.

 

 _“Baby let your hair down, let me run my fingers through, we can be ourselves now, go ahead be foolish,”_ Greg sang, hips still moving as he dances around the kitchen, seemingly oblivious to Mycroft’s staring. He couldn’t help but smile, indulgently taking in the sight. He couldn’t help but examine his life, and not for the first time, trying to pinpoint the exact moment that he couldn’t see his life without this man sillily dancing in his kitchen.

 

The bridge of the song came on and Greg swiftly snatched a spoon from the crock on their counter and whirled around to sing directly at him, leaning over the island, just inches away.

 

_“To me you are more than just skin and bones, you are elegance and freedom, and everything I know, so come on and-”_

 

Mycroft couldn’t resist.

 

He reached out to grip the lapels of Greg’s shirt and pull him slowly down to meet Mycroft’s lips, effectively silencing him. He tasted like vanilla and brown sugar, and a tiny hint of the underlying flavor that was Greg himself. _He’s been sneaking tastes, when did that happen? His hips are far too distracting._

 

Greg let him distract him from baking. The spoon clattered softly as Greg let it fall to the marble so he could brace himself on the island, sighing softly as they licked into each other’s mouths. The song eventually ended and another began, prompting Greg to pull back slightly.

 

“You’re very distracting,” Greg said softly, a smile tugging at his lips, his voice lightly teasing.

 

“I apologize for nothing,” Mycroft said, his own smile reflecting the joy in his voice. He never used to smile, finding it too reptilian even for him, but Greg never seemed off-put by it. Not when it was genuine. And he seemed to have smiles in spades for Mycroft in return.

 

Greg pressed one more, closed mouth kiss to Mycroft’s lips before pulling back more so he could get the first sheet of cookies in the oven. Mycroft felt his fingers itch to go to him, to help him spoon the batter onto the sheet, to press kisses to the back of Greg’s neck while his love worked, to taste more of that sugar from him. It was incredibly saccharine, a feeling that to this day he was still unused to. But, impossible as it may be, it didn’t repel him.

 

He let his thoughts gently bubble against each other in his mind, not feeling the need to immediately file every little thing that filtered through it as Sherlock did. After Greg slid the sheet in the oven he straightened and set the timer for the appropriate minutes required for their little treat to cook. Then he walked around the island and insinuated himself between Mycroft’s legs and draped his arms around his shoulders, touching their foreheads together.

 

“Sixteen to eighteen minutes,” Greg told him softly.

 

“Lovely,” Mycroft whispered, settling his arms around Greg’s waist. His left hand lightly gripped Greg’s hip while the other trailed light passes up and down his back. He could feel Greg melt slowly against him. It only took a minute for Greg to trail soft kisses down Mycroft’s cheek on his way to resting his head against his shoulder. Mycroft pressed light kisses against Greg’s neck and clothed shoulder. Affection welled up under his breastbone making him feel too tight, too full, while at the same time quieting his mind and filling him with contentment.

 

They remained there, locked in their tender embrace as the rain raged outside, shaking the windows in sharp contrast to the soft music that filled their flat. Greg turned his head to mouth gently at Mycroft’s neck, nibbling lightly at his ear. A low hum of arousal drizzled throughout his body but he felt no urgency surge up beneath it. They would have time for more than their relaxed touches later. For now, Mycroft was drinking in their easy intimacy like water, wishing for it to never end.  

 

It was all too soon over at the sound of the buzzer.

 

Greg sighed and drew back reluctantly. Mycroft let him go, knowing he would return to him as soon as the cookies were dealt with. Mycroft drank his forgotten wine and watched quietly as Greg shifted the warm cookies to a cooling rack. Once done, he slid the cookie sheet into the dishwasher and cleaned up the rest of his mess. Baking utensils joined the baking sheet in the dishwasher, ingredients went back to their designated places back in the cabinets, and the counter was wiped clean of any lingering flour and sugar that had escaped the bowl.

 

By the time Greg was done cleaning, the cookies were ready to eat.

 

“Care for a cookie, Myc?”

 

“As if you even have to ask,” Mycroft drawled affectionately. He rose and took it upon himself to dump the last remnants of the wine in the sink before pulling down one plate for them to share. He loaded the plate with four cookies before reached in the fridge for the milk and poured them each a small glass.

 

“If you’d kindly take the plate and follow me to the couch?”

 

“Lead on,” Greg told him happily.

 

They situated themselves on their couch, an ingenious purchase on their part, if Mycroft did say so himself. It was a decadently comfortable sectional with microfiber in a lovely shade of grey. It was perfect for cuddling whilst being able to stretch both sets of legs out. They placed their dishes on the table and then arranged themselves for maximum comfort. They situated themselves in the corner of the sectional, each one with his back against a cushion, while they let their legs basketweave themselves to stretch out along the long ends of the couch, Greg’s thighs laying atop Mycroft’s. This left them room to stretch, room to eat, but still be close enough to qualify as cuddling.

 

Mycroft adored this couch.

 

Once they were settled, Greg leaned over and picked up the plate of cookies and set it neatly in his lap before diving back down to take their glasses in hand. He handed one to Mycroft and said “cheers” before picking up a cookie.

 

Mycroft let him take the first choice of cookie, then he reached in and delicately picked one for himself. He breathed in the warm scent of sugar, butter, and chocolate, before taking a small bite. He groaned in pleasure, closing his eyes to fully appreciate the sweetness on his tongue.

 

“The sounds you make should be illegal,” Greg said, chuckling.

 

“Sod off,” Mycroft said, uncaring about the improper noises his mouth made. He took another bite, licking the still melty chocolate off his lips. His eyes slid open a fraction to find Greg staring at his lip, his own lower lip caught between his teeth. He hadn’t even touched his own cookie, too busy staring at Mycroft. “You should try your own cooking, darling. It’s divine.”

 

Eyes still on Mycroft, Greg slowly sunk his teeth into the warm pastry. He, too, closed his eyes and groaned in pleasure. Mycroft’s throat went dry. He had always enjoyed the gratification that food, particularly sweets, had brought but this was ridiculous. It as absolutely unacceptable to be aroused by a cookie.

Not to mention the man currently eating said cookie.

 

But his suddenly filthy thoughts were derailed when Greg dropped the cookie back onto the plate and said, “god, I’m good!” He held a hand up, silently requesting Mycroft high-five him.

 

Mycroft blinked at him. “You cannot be serious.”

 

“Come on, love.” He batted his eyelashes at him. “Don’t leave me hangin’.”

 

With an exaggerated eye-roll, Mycroft ate the rest of his cookie, taking the time to lick his fingers free of the chocolate and crumbs before placing his palm against Greg’s. It wasn’t so much a high-five as a mid-air press of hands.

 

But it was enough for Greg. He slotted their fingers together and leaned in to kiss him. This time his lips were warmed from the cookie and he tasted sweeter than before. Mycroft cursed the cold glass in his other hand for he had the desire to cup the man’s face.

 

As quickly as he had started it, Greg ended the kiss and pulled away and kissed Mycroft’s knuckles before letting go. He picked up his half eaten cookie and took another bite gleefully. “Not a bad way to spend a rainy day, is it,” he said around the food in his mouth.

  
Mycroft eyed him, love shining through every inch of his gaze. “No, not at all,” he agreed.


End file.
